The Vampires' Vanity
by Illuded
Summary: The story of two vampires as they live through the centuries, coping with their existence.


The bickering between us has a delicate quality to it. I could never push him away, my dear Francis, but his irritations continuously seep through my tolerance. At first I judged him spoiled swine, but now I see him as a spoiled boy. So, now I laugh and laugh at his immature questions. _What are we? Why do we exist?_ Oh, Francis, what an odd vampire I have made you. But my humor is not taken by him. They only spur mindless tantrums. Tiresome that our ensuing arguments are enough to shatter glass. Uncooperative and differing in vision, really Francis, why did I bother to turn you?

It is troublesome enough to waltz at night to hunt with my dear Francis, unperturbed as always. Revolting that he should conjecture giving up our scenarios. I snake my arm around him and whisper in his ear, "There there Francis. Do not ponder such mundanes, such philosophies." I felt an inner tension coil within him, obviously berated.

"I refuse to play your games," he said.

I was overcome by disillusion, my knees weakened, I almost toppled with amusement, yet I merely chuckled hand over mouth. I made a vain attempt at propping myself against a glass window, inside was a store with dolls, of an aristocratic kind, on display looking back at me, and collapsed on the sidewalk, back against the wall, bemused. A hardness obscured Francis' face, and his determined eyes shot out to the horizon towards the adjacent harbor. I saw this and I too fancied the ocean at night. A calm serenity in the washing sound of the waves, like as if the coast was bathing. Francis did not enjoy my theatrics, but that is quite true of my dear, humorless Francis. I should of made vampire one with more life, one with more _je ne sais pas!_ I patted his leg with my forefingers, cuing that he be seated. Slowly, he came to me and we both reminisced over the pitch ocean. Or, at least he did. My mind swam with Francis' oddness of late.

"Francis, what has come over you? I hope this is merely a phase," I said now my focus scattering amongst the Parisian nightlife, "really, I offer you immortality, and trust me it helps every now and then to have a little fun. We are on this earth for God knows how long. It helps to have some amusement. Really, it does."

"I don't want to play games with mortals. If we feast, then we feast, but no more games on mortals. No more scenarios. No more pretending to be lost and in need of directions or promises of lucrative back ally merchandise, only to pounce on them at the final moment. No more wounding mortals and then releasing them, offering some semblance of hope, only to rob it of them. Please."

That sent me over the top. How weak my Francis had become. "Oh please! Oh please!" was an outburst on my part, shaking as I pronounced it, tangling up my hair. I ran my hand through to calm my soft curls, but only then did I notice the glances I received from passer-bys. Oh how revolting, my dear Francis, to have me cause a scene. Understandably, two aristocratic look-a-likes sitting on the side at night in the center of bourgeoisie Paris must be an odd spectacle. I had enough. I got up, and aware Francis' stubbornness, I forcibly lifted him by the elbow. "Oh get up you baby," I fussed.

We both sundered down a few mesmerizing busy streets of nightlife Paris until I spotted the perfect victims. Two nubile ladies adorned mockingly with aristocratic fashion. Clearly, judging by their overuse of make-up and casual demeanor despite being unaccompanied by men, they were the truest Parisian prostitutes that one could lay eyes on. I felt a smile stretch across me, and I reached for Francis yanking him to witness these two delicacies. I flicked my wrist towards them.

"There. See? Perfect." Dragging my poor Francis, I had already preplanned the encounter. Prostitutes were easy prey, and therefore an inelaborate means to thirst. But, given Francis' despair for scenarios, I generously settled for the practical.

Yet, we had only arrived halfway, the two beauties noticing our slight approach giggled amongst themselves and flapped their eyelashes, when I felt Francis' contrary tug. "No," he murmured. I turned to him viscerally and throwing up my hands I said "No?" I leered at him venomously. No? What does he mean by no? No feasting? Does he still think he is a mortal? Oh Francis, give it up, _laissez-fair_, my dear Francis. Can he not grasp that we are a different being, flesh and bone but not human? I did not want to bother with his mood swings right now. Now we feast, and as I scuffled myself free from his grasp, a glint of shock emerged from him. This was the first time I had behaved so physically tempered, but, really, my dear Francis, there's a limit to what I can endure. I headed towards these two beauties again, but after drawing closer, I suddenly stopped out of an intuition of emptiness. Was Francis not accompanying me? I glanced wide-eyed over my shoulder failing to see him. Startled, I turned and gazed about sporadically. No, he was not about. I dashed back into the Paris busy bodies, eyes focusing in every direction as keenly as a bird's. "Francis!" I cried. Onlookers again, but these I did not concern myself. I could eradicate them where they stood, these frail, rodent mortals. I wanted my dear, foolish Francis. "Francis!" again I cried helplessly. I moved a few paces driven by tormenting emotions, but I knew it was futile. Francis had disappeared into Paris.

Overcome by guilt and despair, I rummaged about eventually landing myself at a vacant part of town. Left alone with the stars, I murmuring obscenities as I made re-evaluations. Oh fine, let him go, I thought. He was too weak. I will create a better one. But I cursed myself because nobody could replace his beauty, his inquisitive genius. From the start, he pondered those essential questions. My dear philosopher, my Francis, oh, I should not of been so tempered, so out of touch.

I immediately smelt the familiar mortal stench of French wine. Then I heard a scuffle. It came from a drunken mortal on a park bench. A deplorable feast he would make, but the night does not go on forever. In search of self-amusement and some form of therapy, I sat next to my new mortal friend with elbows rested on top of the back of the bench in fine aristocratic fashion and legs jutting outward and crossed. I set my eyes upon the mass arrangement of twilights above and spoke to my dear friend, "Enjoying yourself tonight, good sir?"

"Eh?" was his scruff reply. Disheartening. I was disconcerted by his manner hoping for a little more sophistication from this one. Now, not expecting anything, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, and deliberated over the bottle of wine he held flimsily. A witty thought occurred for me to reminisce about wine.

"Wine," and exhaling I remarked, " I once had wine, long ago." But, a memory of Francis flashed before me of our feasting binges, ultimately ending as fiascoes in one form or other, shook me. A sternness built up from within, and I lost any passion to continue this charade because I had an insatiable need for my dear Francis. Quickly and dispassionately, I enveloped myself over my mortal friend, my fangs plunged through the surface of his neck, and I resumed drawing blood. It was quick and, as I left wiping my lips with a handkerchief now stained red, I detested the filthy mortal stench that fashioned me. His body left slumped on the bench as if asleep, I then made my way home. The night was still young but it was already a poor one.

Arriving at my nightly crypt at an outskirt cemetery, I noticed the gate open. I knew it must have been Francis, but delirium my searching for him had afforded me failed to conjure feelings of remorse. Into the blackness I staggered, down the crypt stairway, until I rightfully noticed my dear Francis sitting on his coffin, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped palm to palm, and again with that hard look of philosophers on his face. He was a statue engrossed in contemplations. I briefly glared at him, he did not react to my entrance, and I paced ahead abruptly as if ignoring his existence. A moment of nothing passed between us, until I noted an unusual glint of redness from his lips. I spun on my heel, peering at this rosy splotch, and then I knew. Half smiling, I produced my stained handkerchief, and flicked it at Francis as I tramped towards him. He caught it, as still as he originally was, that it seemed a reflex. Slowly, he brought the handkerchief to his lips, as if working in his own time, then he was in tears. He suddenly clasped his palms on to his face weeping while I knelt down beside him, gently toiling his palms free. "There there Francis. Oh, my sweet inquisitive one. There there," I reassured.

"No," his voiced cracked, "I drank."

"Shh." I folded my other arm around his back, my other hand still on his to keep his face from hiding, "You think too much Francis."

He leaned into me, his eyes where a rosy complexion with streams of blood tears. I lightly grasped the handkerchief from him and tenderly wiped his cheeks; although, I only succeeded in smearing those tears of blood, so I refrained. I held him closer, tighter, and ran my fingers through his straight hair. He still shook with every whimper, but it had calmed significantly.

"Who made you?" Francis spoke softly.

I turned my head to the dilapidated, crypt ceiling remarking the roots that had grown through the cracks. I smirked to myself amused by my dear Francis' unfaltering wonder. I racked my brain for an appropriate response. Finally, I let out monotonously, "Oh, a lonely vampire."

"Were you afraid?"

I snickered dryly. "Oh, Francis. We are fear. We have nothing to fear but our own kind."

"Have you met others?"

"Yes. There are covens. There is a theater run by vampires here."

I thought the idea might seem unbelievably amusing to him. He turned slightly towards me within my arms and said, "What? Really?" in the most childish manner I see him possess at moments. I smiled down at him, face to face, moving my head closer, now eye to eye. The gesture was enough to make him giggle.

I withdrew and relaxed. "Yes. But, I do not trust them." Then, sternly, I leered into his eyes and tapped his long slender nose with my index finger playfully. "They can be very dangerous. You have to be careful."

"Why?" he asked.

"It is hard to trust other vampires. We are selfish beings, predators by nature. Companionship is difficult, almost always a fantasy. No, the only real companionship is with one and his master." A silence followed after this, and I felt Francis churning this depressing reality in his mind. He sank deeper into my arms as if to surrender to it. "Don't think about it my inquisitive one. Now is time to sleep. Tomorrow is a new night."

With that, I wiped the blood from his face. Then, we each climbed into our coffins to end the night. Oh, my dear Francis, how much trouble you give me. Yet, I know he is the most fun I have had for centuries.


End file.
